


Calling in the Dark

by HollyBlue2



Series: Prompt Galore [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyBlue2/pseuds/HollyBlue2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: You found me sitting on the curb side drunk and shouting your name into the dark wanting you to come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deanhesmygalaxy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=deanhesmygalaxy).



> My first Dean x Reader fic! So bare with me!

You’ve spent most of the afternoon and evening in The Roadhouse just a couple of blocks from your flat. It was stupid. Stupid words that lead to a misunderstanding and you decided that walking out was the best option you had. Now you’ve been kicked out of The Roadhouse after you stumbled into another regular there and nearly started a fight. You in a fight probably wouldn’t have ended up well.

You stumble forward and sit yourself unceremoniously down on the edge of the road, watching the few and far between cars speed by. Though you’re not really looking, your vision is a little fuzzy from the vodka. It takes you a while to realise that there are tears running down your face so you scrape them away quickly with the cuff of your long sleeve shirt.

“I’m sorry, Dean…” You mumble. You’ve got the last three inches of beer left in the bottle in your hand, you weren’t supposed to take it out of the bar but you didn’t care. Nothing matters now, not now you’ve fucked up your relationship with Dean.

_He’ll never take you back now._ The words are scrambling round your head, you cry harder, speak louder into the dark. “I’m sorry!”

Stupid words that you didn’t mean.

_No, he doesn’t love you._ “Dean!” You shout.

“Dean… please, I’m sorry.”

There are footsteps behind you, quiet and calm. _This is it. This is how I die._ You think, morbidly. Then there are hands on your shoulders. They’re warm and almost sobering.

“(Y/N)?” The voice says, it’s kinda muffled in your drunken haze and you begin to wonder if it’s even real. “(Y/N)? Hey, it’s just me. It’s Dean, (Y/N), look at me.” He says firmly, coming round to face you and crouching down. His face and features are dark and for a moment you really wonder if it’s him or just a drunken hallucination.

“No… I’m sorry!” You shout over the figure in front of you, as if he’s not there. “Dean! Please, I’m so sorry.” You’re still not really seeing him.

“Hey!” The voice is firm once again. “(Y/N), come on, it’s just me, it’s Dean, look at me, baby…” There’s something in his voice, the way it’s almost cracking and you look up.

In front of you, crouching down in a red and black plaid shirt and jeans is Dean, your Dean. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, a cold shiver running down your spine.

“No, it was my fault. I said some shit too. Please, (Y/N), let’s get home.” He rests his hands on each of your shoulders, grounding you.

“I…” His hands move up to cup your face, you stop talking and lean in to his warming touch. You shiver again, your ‘alcohol blanket’ dissipating a little though you still feel warm.

“No, come on, you’re freezing.” Dean’s hands are back to your shoulders rubbing up and down to get warmth into them

“I don’t feel cold…” You protest.

“That’s because you’ve drunk a lot of alcohol. Let’s get you home. We’ll work this out. I can promise you that, (Y/N).” He smiles at you, but you can see through it so easily, he’s torn up. He’s torn up and it’s your fault, so you comply, you’ve got to make this better.

“’kay. Dean?” You say. He looks at you, there are tears nestling at the bottom of his eye lids. “What I said…” He cuts you off, hauling you off the side of the street. His arm loops around your waist and he threads his fingers through a belt loop of your jeans.

“In the morning, (Y/N). We’ll work it out in the morning.” Dean guides you to the waiting impala. The familiar leather seats comforting. The deep whiskey and musk smell of Dean lingering in the air. Thankfully the car is warm and even though you shiver violently from the temperature change you warm up quickly as you get closer and closer to your flat.


End file.
